


Two's Christmas Eve

by AnneLaurant



Category: Gaia Online
Genre: Christmas Party, Christmas fic, Drinking, Gen, Oneshot, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 09:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16972236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneLaurant/pseuds/AnneLaurant
Summary: Ex(?)-assassin and current right hand man Zhivago spends the holidays with Don Cordell Kuro. Despite the merrymaking and the party, for these two, happiness is still difficult to achieve.





	Two's Christmas Eve

**Author's Note:**

> For StrawberryFool on Gaia. Thanks so much for the Orube art!  
> (See Strawbs' art [here.](https://artisanbananafool.tumblr.com/))
> 
> Also if you squint, you can probably read a little tinsy bit of Zhivago/Cordell, but don't expect it too much.

Two's Christmas Eve  
  
A peaceful evening dawned upon Durem. The merrymaking had subsided; most people sat in their homes, happy to share meals with friends.  
  
The same went for the Durem Underground. Many of its lower-ranking members went home for the season. A few elves and vampires were away on their own little (or big) vacation, while a bulk of the elves gathered together in their own traditional meal.  
  
The catering was superb. Zhivago made a mental note that a personal letter to the chef was in order; he even wrote on his own skin to help himself remember. Of course, he'd make said letter under Cordell's name, but it still made him wonder, why would he be entrusted with secretarial duties? A question he still didn't know the answer to, beyond knowing that it's one of the reasons Cordell gave him a prosthetic arm. Gears whirring in said prosthetic, he lifted his glass and drank his precious blood wine.  
  
"What do you think of tonight's affairs?"  
  
He turned to his boss. Don Cordell, wearing an elegant coat over her luxurious dress. Truly a sight to behold, she drew every single person's attention towards her. Then again, the Kuros were simply fallen royalty; Cordell a monarch on her own right.  
  
"Nice, I guess," Zhivago murmured.  
  
"I don't mean that." Cordell raised her own glass of wine. "You're at a party. Don't you hate parties?"  
  
"Disgustingly sparkly, very social parties."  
  
"I stand corrected."  
  
Indeed. The party was more of a family affair. With the exception of the higher-ranking members like Cordell, there was no need to be lavish or to force oneself to interact with everybody. The dark elves were very down-to-earth compared to their cousins; the Kuros being the humblest among them.  
  
Cordell held her glass out. "Cheers."  
  
"Cheers."  
  
Zhivago took a swig of his wine. He observed the other elves and the few vampires that were with them. Loyal vampires. Vampires who were lovers to the other elves. Hybrids; they don't escape his nose, though they presented as vampires or elves in the party.  
  
He hadn't noticed it when he worked for Luca. Or perhaps, had his kin been allowed to flourish in the biggest underground group, under Cordell's protection?  
  
He took another swig, and the night continued.  
  
Zhivago was already tipsy and so was Cordell when they were allowed by the rules of social engagement to retire to their quarters. Being her right-hand man, he had to drag her back to her room.  
  
"It's Christmas eve!" she announced, "Did you get any gift for me?"  
  
"...no."  
  
"You're mean."  
  
"You didn't get me one, either."  
  
"Awww, you're really mean."  
  
Zhivago helped her into her bed, taking her coat and hanging it properly.  
  
"If you didn't prepare me one, then I demand you keep me company until I fall asleep."  
  
Zhivago scowled, but he dropped onto the bed right next to Cordell.  
  
"Happy now, Don?"  
  
"I'm not even asleep yet, Mr. Vagoo."  
  
"Don't call me that."  
  
"Correction: only I get to call you that, and it's every time you address me as Don."  
  
"Tch."  
  
Silence settled in. This wasn't the first time they lay together in the quiet and the stillness of the underground. They were prone to do it often, perhaps during a particularly lazy day for work, or after a particularly tiring day for work, or a random day in which Cordell felt clingy or soft or deep and wanted someone to talk to.  
  
Zhivago wasn't much of a talker. Social interactions brought him unnecessary fatigue. He'd rather get a quick note or stand in the background and get things done those ways.  
  
But he did appreciate that Cordell didn't mind that. Then again, she was a lonely don. She didn't have her close family anymore; there were those who deserted the late Queen, her mother, when the curse took place, leaving her and her brother and their most loyal members to regroup and organize.  
  
And that reminded Zhivago. He had a question in mind from earlier. He struggled to remember it.  
  
"Zhivago, don't you get lonely during the holidays?"  
  
"No, but I have a question."  
  
"Which is...?"  
  
"I can't remember."  
  
Cordell sighed. "That's why you carry a pen with you all the time. You write on your skin or a napkin and help yourself remember."  
  
Zhivago snarled.  
  
"You did write about writing a letter to the chef, right?"  
  
"Right."  
  
"Good."  
  
Cordell turned to him. "It gets lonely here, sometimes."  
  
He shrugged.  
  
"I used to be the only hybrid everybody knew. And my brother used to hate vampires."  
  
Oh right! He had a question about the vampires and the elves' interaction and intermarriages. "...but what about the juvenile and adult hybrids earlier?"  
  
"Well, being a hybrid, I tried to seek out others like me. And I did. I found them. I learned to recognize them by scent, a gift from my vampiric father's blood."  
  
Cordell reached for Zhivago's hand and clasped it tightly in her fingers. She's not that warm; she's never that warm, courtesy of said vampiric blood.  
  
"I encouraged them to present themselves as elves or vampires. Pick one side, I said. It would make things easier. Even to our farther cousins, to people like Cresento. Unsurprisingly, most of them tried to be like elves."  
  
Because the vampires were servants.  
  
"It did help them live a little more peacefully. The people who didn't know treated them with respect, and it helped with business. My brother was so proud of me. He reconsidered the treatment of our vampiric allies. And, now..."  
  
"And now?"  
  
"Well, I'm the Don now. There are more hybrids revealing themselves."  
  
Zhivago grunted in acknowledgement.  
  
"Many more elves revealing to have married vampires, humans, orcs... many more different kinds of hybrids... Of course, more vampire clans open to business, affiliations, et cetera, et cetera..."  
  
Cordell laughed. It was a rather bitter, forced laugh, Zhivago noticed. "I remember my brother... he rebuilt our kingdom, our empire in a day. He wasn't given recognition because first and foremost, we were a syndicate. Second, we were dark elves. Third, Gambino had better, richer PR staff..."  
  
Cordell turned, burying her face against Zhivago's suit.  
  
"I miss my brother..." she whispered.  
  
How ironic, when she was the one who killed him, ultimately. But then again, the late Don had been a more or less good man, providing jobs to those who needed them. Established an empire stronger than the one he inherited; worked himself to the bone to care for the people his mother left behind.  
  
Zhivago stared into the nothing of the walls, the nothing of the Cordell's room, with which he had become familiar, perhaps too familiar with. He caressed Cordell's back, an action he'd familiarized himself with.   
  
This wasn't the first time Cordell cried about her brother; this wasn't the first time Cordell cried about anything in the privacy of her room, in the privacy between her and him. Zhivago supposed it was because he was good at being quiet, or perhaps it was because she thought he too felt lonely.  
  
He didn't exactly share the sentiment; he was a lone wolf for Gaia's sake. However, perhaps, from time to time, he needed a companion too.  
  
Zhivago's fingers tangled themselves in Cordell's hair, and he murmured words of comfort to her. She probably complained back, but he didn't care to listen to her words. He simply smiled and told her to cry as much as she wanted to.  
  
In the silence of Durem, there are those who celebrate. But, there are those, too, who mourn and lament the ones who could not celebrate.


End file.
